


The Opera House

by MathClassWarfare



Category: Final Fantasy VI, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Inspired by Music, M/M, Spoilers, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare
Summary: Prompto has lots of feelings about a classic video game.





	The Opera House

There’s hardly an inch of space that isn't occupied. Every piece of mismatched furniture that the proprietors have crammed into this room is overflowing with people. They're perched on arm-rests, leaning forward over the backs of couches, and sitting cross-legged on the floor against end-tables. 

Most of the people who stay in this rooming house are hunters. They have pretty reasonable daily, weekly and monthly rates. Well, reasonable for Lestallum, where housing costs are ridiculous and only getting worse. Even after the end of the world, capitalism marches on, stronger than ever. 

The residents come and go as they pick up hunting jobs and then venture out into the night to kill daemons. While they’re here, they gather in the common room. A whole beautiful spectrum of humanity is present. They’re talking, making art, playing music, reading, and crafting. Someone is eating stew. A couple is making out in an armchair while everyone else politely ignores them.

Prompto has just snagged a spot on a couch. He’d been sitting on the arm of the couch earlier, but somebody got up and offered him her seat on the actual cushion. 

He couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but he recognized her from the last time he stayed here. She was wearing this really cool vest covered in hand-embroidered flowers and beasts. He’d seen her working on that vest before. One time she was in here embroidering while he was trying to teach himself how to knit. They had a nice talk about crafts and she showed him a better way to cast on. 

Prompto isn’t involved in any of the conversations around him at the moment. He’s wearing earbuds and fully engrossed in his game.

It’s the mobile version of his favorite game as a kid, an RPG that doesn’t really have one main protagonist, but focuses on a dozen heroes who work together to overthrow an evil empire. The characters are multi-dimensional and the story is interesting. Also there are chocobos, and one of the heroes is a moogle who specializes in dancing. It’s the best.

Prompto’s played this game so many times, sitting on the floor of his living room because the controller cables weren’t long enough to reach the couch, in the glow of his TV set. He would stay up late waiting for his parents to come home, trying out different party configurations, equipping and un-equipping the best accessories, and saving the world again and again. It’s comforting to return to this game now. 

Prompto really needs comforting these days. 

He’s currently playing through the opera house scene. He doesn’t bother checking the score. He’s sure the lyrics are rattling around in his brain somewhere, alongside ‘rosebud,’ ‘left right left’ and a reminder to get the elixir in the clock. He’s already humming the melody to himself.

His objective is to choose the right lines for the character to sing. She’s a badass reformed imperial general, who reminds Prompto a lot of Aranea, now that he thinks of it. In this part of the game, she's disguised as a diva to trick a gambler planning to abduct the real star. If she flubs her lines, the impresario gets really mad and the whole thing starts over.

Prompto briefly considers how problematic this whole storyline is, especially because the gambler is about to join the party, but now the music is playing and nostalgia takes over.

Prompto quickly selects the first line: **(Oh, my hero . . . )**

He smiles as the little sprite begins to sing the first verse in cute, robotic midi. He amuses himself with the idea of Aranea in a poofy white gown with ribbons in her hair.

The words to the first verse appear on the screen, line by line. Prompto feels a light tugging in his chest as he reads.

 _Ooof_ , he thinks, _how did I forget how sad these lyrics are?_

It’s making him think about Noct. Prompto closes his eyes and conjures an image of his face, smiling, then laughing. He remembers how lucky he felt whenever he said or did something to break through the cool, deadpan affect that his best friend wore like armor. He wonders if he'll still be able to make Noct laugh when he comes back. 

_If he comes back._

Prompto pushes that thought away before he starts spiraling.

He chooses the next line: **(I’m the darkness . . . )** thinking, _appropriate_ , given the fact that the nights are getting so long, and how he’s been feeling lately. 

The ex-general, in all her 16-bit glory, moves around the castle balcony as she sings. Prompto marvels at how on-point these lyrics are.

He’s really trying not to cry—in this room full of tough-as-shit hunters—over sappy lyrics in an ancient video game.

He thinks of happier days. Long, aimless weekends wandering around Insomnia with Noct. The elation of their first kiss on a rooftop in the desert. He remembers months of falling in love on the road. Beside crackling campfires. At the ends of docks, with their legs dangling. In back of the car, when they thought they were being sneaky. 

He reminds himself that he really needs to give Ignis a call. Gladio too. He can’t remember when he last spoke with either of them.

Prompto sniffs and wipes at his eyes with the back of his fingerless glove. He selects the next line: **(Must I . . . )**

_Fuck . . ._ With this verse, he’s really crying. He curls in on himself and pulls his phone closer to his face. 

Prompto thinks back to the last time they were together. It was after Noct came to rescue him in Gralea, disproving both the internal running commentary of Prompto’s insecurities, and the taunting of the villain who locked him up there.

Afterwards, Noct had looked so torn up with guilt. He’d apologized over and over again, gently stroking Prompto’s hair and whispering, because Ignis and Gladio were trying to sleep nearby. 

Prompto hadn’t been angry with him though. He was too overwhelmed with gratitude, and with relief. He'd been right to hold onto the hope that his best friend—his love—was coming for him. He had told himself that he had to stay alive so that Noct could see him and know that he was real. So that’s what he did.

In that bunker, he made a promise to stay with Noct always, ‘ever at your side,’ he said. Then they went and told Noct to run ahead to the crystal while the rest of them fended off a mess of daemons. 

Prompto asks himself—for probably the millionth time—why he didn’t go with Noct. Maybe he could’ve been pulled inside the crystal too. Instead, he got there too late. His most important person in the world was gone and he never had the chance to say goodbye.

A bearded hunter standing nearby notices that Prompto is crying and places a big hand on his shoulder.

“You okay mate?” 

Prompto nods, and the other man catches a glimpse of his screen.

“Oh . . . this part gets me every time too.” With a friendly pat on the back, he returns to his other conversation.

Prompto takes some deep breaths and brings his attention back to the game. The clunky dancing part comes next, then she picks up the bouquet and goes up to the roof. He watches the lines of text move across his screen as the woman—who is not an opera floozy—finishes her song. 

Prompto resolves to wait for Noct as long as it takes. He’ll wait for him always. Tomorrow, he’s going to start knitting Noct a sweater. It’s a lot colder now than it was when he left.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever had Celes' song from the opera house in FFVI stuck in your head, and then think about Prompto and Noctis, and then feel real sad? Me too!


End file.
